A confused look crosses her face. “Like dress up?”
“Not quite,” I respond, voice full of intent. I can feel the heated look in my own eyes. This girl’s got me in fucking knots.
It takes her a minute. “Oh,” she utters quietly. “Umm, I don’t know.” Her eyes light up at the thought, however. “How much of this is going to be reported back to Zach?”
Fuck, she has to mention that fucker’s name doesn’t she. “Not a damn word unless I feel like you’re in danger or put someone else in danger.” I need her trust almost as much as I am coming to need her. I would never reveal her secrets. “What do you do for fun?”
Ashley
Fun? I don’t remember the last time I did anything for fun. “I read to pass the time, sometimes I play solitaire.” His frown at my answer is disconcerting.
“That’s it?”
Why is he pissed off now?
“Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”
“It’s a follow-up, humor me.”
Rolling my eyes, I answer. “Yes, that’s it. It’s not exactly easy to trust anymore, yanno?” My question is rhetorical. “Why do you care about finding out all my dirty secrets?”
His bark of laughter rings hollow as he replies, “Beats the fuck out of me.”
“Right.” I don’t know what to say to that. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. I have this strong attraction to him, and here he is pissed off to even be in my company. Looking at the clock on the wall, I decide I’m done. I don’t need or want to put myself out there for a man who doesn’t even want to be here. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Thanks for the coffee.” I’m up and out of my seat before he can even respond.
Running from the restaurant, I hear him call, “Ash! Wait a fucking minute,” but I keep running. Darting between buildings, over fences, down alleys. My lungs burn with every breath. I ignore it and pump my legs harder, push my body further.
I can hear the rumble of Declan’s bike as he speeds through the streets. Stopping between two stinky dumpsters, I’m so pissed at myself. I’m trying so fucking hard to get my shit together, to lose the pity and move on. But it seems as though every time I make progress, I have a setback.
The ringing of my phone startles me from my thoughts. Pulling the offending device from my pocket, I stare as unavailable number flashes across the screen with every ring. To answer or not to answer?
“Fuck,” I curse, answering it knowing it’s him. “What?” I snap.
“Where the fuck are you?” he bites out, and disgustingly enough, I feel a pull in my heart to have him near.
“What do you care?” I feel more hormonal than a pregnant woman.
“What kind of fucking question is that? Tell me where the hell you are, or you’ll regret it.” There’s a trace of dominance in his voice I can’t help but respond to.
“What are you gonna do?” I’m taunting him, and I know it. “I don’t answer to you. You’re not my PO or my father; you can’t do shit.”
“You’re right, I’m neither.” His voice darkens like the calm before the storm. “I’m much fucking worse.”
I can hear the promise in his tone, and I’m dying to keep pushing him but have no clue why. “
Whatever, Declan. You can’t do a thing. I’m not required to give you anything,” I snarl back.
“You’ll regret that,” he vows just as I hear the click of him hanging up. Pulling the phone from my ear, I debate calling a cab to take me back to work since I don’t know where I am exactly.
Looking up one way of the dark alley, I can’t see the end, so as I’m about to chance the other way, my body is slammed into the brick wall I was leaning against. The smell of garbage increases, and I gag as I try and scream, fighting off my captor. His hand over my mouth prevents that, and I freeze. Fear causes my brain to stop all rational thought, making my limbs feel like lead weights. I don’t know what to do.
“I fucking warned you,” is whispered in my ear as my captor’s free hand reaches up to wrap around my throat just tight enough to start restricting air flow. I begin to panic when his voice finally registers.
“Declan?” I try to mumble through his hand.
“I told you you’d regret running from me.” His tone… The menace in it, the heat, the sexual undertones… They all register in the darkest recesses of my brain, and I arch into his touch just as he slides his hand from my mouth and down my jaw, over my shoulder and roughly down my back, pushing me as hard into the brick as I’ll go.
“What are you doing?” I wheeze out, barely able to catch my breath as his hand pulses around my throat. God, can he hear the desire in my tone?